'Public school?' he said, turning down the corners of his mouth as if I had said 'reform school.' He turned to my father for an explanation.
'That's why I thought it would be of great benefit to her at this time to have private instruction from a reputable and highly respected teacher,' my father said.
'I don't understand, monsieur. I was told your daughter has had some of her works accepted by one of our art galleries. I just assumed . . .'
'That's true,' my father replied, smiling. 'I will show you one of her pictures. Actually, the only one in my possession at the moment.'
'Oh?' Professor Ashbury said, a look of perplexity on his face. 'Only one?'
'That's another story, Professor. First things first. Right this way,' he instructed, and led the professor to his office where my picture of the blue heron still remained on the floor against his desk.
Professor Ashbury stared at it a moment and then stepped forward to pick it up.
'May I?' he asked Daddy.
'By all means, please.'
Professor Ashbury lifted the picture and held it out at arm's length for a moment. Then he nodded and put it down slowly.
'I like that,' he said, then turned to me. 'You caught a sense of movement. It has a realistic feel and yet . . . there's something mysterious about it. There's an intelligent use of shading. The setting is rather well captured, too . . . Have you spent time in the bayou?'
'I lived there all of my life,' I said.
Professor Ashbury's eyes lit with interest. He shook his head and turned to Daddy. 'Forgive me, monsieur,' he said, 'I don't mean to sound like an interrogator, but I thought you had introduced Ruby as your daughter.'
'I did and she is,' Daddy said. 'She didn't live with me until now.'
'I see,' he said, gazing at me again. He didn't seem shocked or surprised by the information, but he felt he had to continue to justify his interest in our personal lives. 'I like to know something about my students, especially the ones I take on privately. Art, real art, comes from inside,' he said, placing the palm of his right hand over his heart. 'I can teach her the mechanics, but what she brings to the canvas is something no teacher can create or teach. She brings herself, her life, her experience, her vision,' he said. 'Do you understand, monsieur?'
'Er . . . yes,' Daddy said. 'Of course. You can learn all about her if you like. The main question is do you believe as some already have exhibited they do, that she has talent?'
'Absolutely,' Professor Ashbury said. He looked at my picture again and then turned back to me. 'She might be the best student I've ever had,' he added.
My mouth gaped open and my father's face lit with pride. He beamed a broad smile and nodded.
'I thought so, even though I'm no art expert.'
'It doesn't take an art expert to see what potential lies here,' Professor Ashbury said, looking at my painting once more.
'Let me show you the studio then,' my father said, and led Professor Ashbury and me down the corridor. The professor was very impressed, as anyone would be, I imagined.
'It's better than what I have at the college,' he whispered as if he didn't want the college trustees to hear.
'When I believe in something or someone, Professor Ashbury, I commit myself fully,' my father declared.
'I can see that. Very well, monsieur,' he said with some pomposity, 'I accept your daughter as one of my students. Provided, of course,' he added, shifting his eyes to me, 'she is willing to accept my tutelage completely and without question.'
'I'm sure she is. Ruby?'
'What? Oh, yes. Thank you,' I said quickly. I was still absorbing Professor Ashbury's earlier compliments.
'I will take you through the fundamentals once again,' he warned. 'I will teach you discipline, and only when I think you are ready, will I turn you loose on your own imaginative powers. Many are born with talent,' he declared, 'but few have the discipline to develop it properly.'
'She does,' my father assured him.
'We'll see, monsieur.'
'Come to my office, Professor, and we will discuss the financial arrangements,' my father said. Professor Ashbury, his eyes still fixed on me, nodded. 'When can she have her first lesson with you, Professor?'
'This coming Monday, monsieur,' he replied. 'Although she has one of the finest home studios in the city, I might ask her to come to mine from time to time,' he added.
'That won't be a problem.'
My heart was pounding with excitement. Grandmere Catherine had always been so positive about my artistic talent. She had no formal schooling and knew little about art, and yet she was convinced down to her soul that I would be a success. How many times had she assured me of this, and now, an art instructor, a professor at a college, had taken one look at my work and declared me very possibly his best candidate.
Still trembling with joy, I hurried upstairs to tell Gisselle, my heart so full, I had no room for anger anymore. I gushed out all the professor had said. Gisselle, trying on different hats at her vanity table, listened and then turned with a look of puzzlement on her face.
